Misaimed for Life -- unrevised
by Venia Silente
Summary: Two criminals in confinement. After having led a small war that created havoc, after gathering people in search of ideals to remake the world, they still go at each other as part of a lifetime ritual. What led them to be this way? Someone had to have seen it coming...


Presenting here a story I wrote for Pokécommunity's Get Together 2014 small writing contest, this entry earning third place. Prompt was rivals / rivalry, and it features two canon characters you will be seeing Soon™ at your nearest game store. This is the unedited, unrevised publication sent to the judges.

(A/N: As explained in the contest thread, which I can not link, due to contest deadline this entry is a reduced and basically still in revision version; eventually I plan to release a more complete version of the story)

**Misaimed for Life**

**(by Venia Silente)**

Tuesday.

Officer Cruces is finishing his third circuit around the high security module of the prison, when his beeper goes off. A call from the floor security. He cautiously looks down to the inmate grounds below, where there is some activity, then retreats to a nearby wall before taking a look at the beeper to confirm.

Code M-355.

Cruces sighs, takes a look at the officer at the other end of the railway he was patrolling, who is also checking his beeper. The sighing gesture is replicated. The two of them then take a look down from the railway to observe the developing scuffle between two groups of inmates.

He'd be willing to bet it's _those two_ guys again, but at this point no one is willing to bet otherwise.

The inmates have formed a huge circle and are howling and cheering as in the center two small groups of inmates are calling each other out and tossing around some of the food trays and implements.

Baton up and ready; taser turned on, full battery. Protective mask equipped, comm turned on. A look at the roof of the module to see some Ninjask getting ready.

A second look down to the ground to see the leaders of the two small gangs.

While both of them are dressed in the usual plain orange suit of the house, like the rest of the local population, they are still somehow easily distinguishable from the rest. One is thin, of angular features and brown-haired, and expresses himself with calm voice and collected gestures as if he was here just doing business. The other is shorter, has somewhat tanner skin and overall rougher and bulkier features, and portrays at all times the image of a man who is righteous and tried by fire, and as lawful as if he was here to right out inspect the facility.

But the insistent, mocking way they address each other over the implements one of them can use or the books the other one is allowed to read, it talks of a deeper mutual understanding. The way they can afford to take their eyes off each other and continue their gloating. The way they always respect each other's turn to mock, and call out the inmates of their own groups who dare interrupt. The way the scuffles always end up in a light, almost cordial session of fisticuffs.

Cruces has not read the file, but he does not need to. Every inmate, every guard, knows more or less the whole story.

Or so they'd think.

There has to be more than that to the punch that one of the two inmates has landed on the other's face and that is followed by a helping hand to get back to feet instead of of a kicking of a man who is down. There has to be more history than just meeting one day, after weeks of struggle against each other, to do something _stupid_ that almost threw a whole hemisphere into havoc.

While the other guards are gathering, an announcement comes from the PA.

"Inmate number one-six. Stop waving those implements around and sit down, or your fork privileges will be revoked. Repeat: lay down the implements."

Cruces rubs his neck, as much as the protective mask allows. He continues to look down for a moment while the two inmates continue to call each other names and -somewhat jokingly- show off their labor implements to each other, up to and including their bleach bottles.

These two guys, they never stop. And the higher-ups insist on keeping them close to each other.

Oh well, he was given a warning. A signal from one of his colleagues and Cruces heads to the nearest staircase, to join the group of guards about to bring order to the common ground.

By the looks of it, they've always been close to each other though.

…Perhaps _someone_ should have seen all this coming much, much earlier.

Would have avoided a lot of issues.

_About five years ago_

With the newest investments arriving in the city this year, Slateport was bustling with activity. And it was not only the groups of scientists and politicians trying to make use of the various advances in the recent years – explorers, rangers, evil cultists, and many other kinds of associations were getting into it.

Speaking of evil cultists, two firms of lawyers are enjoying the benefits of their newest paychecks, while their clients, a group of people trying to work on the nearby rivers to expand fishing activities, and another group that had tried to drain the river to expand some nearby housing projects, are left to drown their sorrows.

Unexpectedly together.

At a cafe at the north end of town, the members of the two projects are sharing the common pain of funds drained and telling each other various tales about how their activities have gone in the last months.

One of them, a tall man in his thirties dressed mostly in red and wearing fine reading glasses, is reading a newspaper the man in front of him has handed over, trying to avoid openly laughing at the misadventures being narrated to him.

"Should have guessed you would pick on one of those scams. 'Mighty orbs'? Come on." He then pauses for a moment to sip some tea. "At least I checked the story of that guy who wanted to create some sort of self-sustaining community up in the Meteor Falls."

His counterpart, a man dressed in simple, black clothes and wearing a blue bandana on his head, waved his hand as if to try and dismiss the whole matter.

"Look, Magno, you know I'm always looking for interesting projects: anything that could give me an edge – as you would do."

The Magno person in red crosses his hands.

"You could afford to, well, go more with the flow, Aquiles."

Aquiles sip some of his own tea and took a look at his companions – a small gathering of young men and women looking for adventure to sustain them in the pursuit of a long, seemingly hopeless cause.

Magno shared the look as he also pondered the situation of his own people – a small gathering of young men and women looking to move around everywhere and hide from their issues long enough that they could bring their common, far away ideal to realization.

Someone shattered a glass by mistake while trying to pass it to a member of the other group, causing some "boos" to go around; all without much animosity however, and soon the two groups were getting the coins necessary to fetch a new bottle of beer.

After a moment of conversation between the two guys at the table, their respective groups approached, intent on seeing which one of the bosses had the upper hand in this meeting. It was the way things usually went like in such events – meeting somewhere when clashing over projects, go to Pokémon anf fisticuffs for a while, have a friendly lunch or dinner and go each one's way.

Magno sighed as he checked his wallet, the rest of his team watching from behind.

"At least those lawyers did not take everything away." He could not help but smile at the situation. "I'm better off fighting you than them."

Aquiles leans back for a moment, allowing himself some relaxation.

"Same here. I'm really hoping some day we can acquire a submarine for exploration. With the costs of permits these days…"

At this, Magno snickers.

"Lucky me, see, I made some very good use of our funds, last year." He produces a small card and he shows it to his counterpart. "We boosted our savings by ten percent by switching to Treicko."

Aquiles raises an eyebrow and approaches to take the card and give it a look, but quickly dismisses it. Instead, he produces from his bag what seems to be some sort of contract.

"That's good for you, Magno. I prefer more immediate investments though."

The others lean forwards and take a look at the opening of the contract; most of them raise their eyebrows after reading the first few lines and getting an initial understanding of the sale – an understanding that is obviously cursory.

More importantly, Magno takes a longer look at the contract and puts up a somewhat confused face. All that Aquiles needs to confirm that today he has the upper hand.

"Huh... well, what can I say?" Magno comments, taking his glasses off to clean them. "That's a pretty long lease, and I think it is payable even for you but... what do you want a _television channel_ for?"

Aquiles can only smirk, his mind now planning a new future, with the powers of the media on his side.

And, if luck provides, the powers of a god too.

Yeah, planning was where it was at. Back then when he and Magno acted on impulse, like the children they were? Back then they were doomed to failure.

_Many, many years ago..._

It was a relatively normal autumn day for the students of the Mauville Elementary School in their visit to the beach, with the children playing at the yard and the teachers bringing some food for them while they waited for the main event of the day – a couple of caretakers from the nearby preservations were bringing some Pokémon for show.

One of the kids, wearing a T-shirt and a bandana, was busy building a small castle with dirt he had somehow convinced his classmates to gather. Another one of the kids, in a shirt and shorts, was collecting pebbles and leaves to take them home and adorn his house.

One of the teachers came forth with a tray, offering the children drinks. One after another the children grabbed their glasses, until there was only one left and still some five children waiting.

…Well, four waiting. The kid who was making the castle was quick to step up and take the drink for himself, making the others groan.

"I could have had that."

"That's my favourite drink!"

"And I got my hands dirty for what?"

The teacher was quick to assure his students that he would be back in just a moment with more drinks. In the meantime, the bandana boy met some glares, nothing too deep, except for the shorts kid, who came forward and confronted the first kid.

"Why can you have that? I have been working all day."

"Because I took it. And I've been working too, see." And he shows off the castle in the making.

There was some minor commentary from the others that they were the ones who worked on it, but it quickly died down. The shorts kid however was not amused.

"You just told them to do things. I could have that drink."

"Sorry but no. Feel free to take anything else!" answered the bandana kid, mockingly pointing to everything around him.

The shorts kid looked around for a moment and then smiled. He walked ceremoniously towards the castle and stopped besides it, causing the bandana kid to look with interest – and a little concern.

"Well if you can have that cup of water, I'll have... let's see..."

The kid scouts around for a moment...

"Aha!"

And then he picks it.

"I'll have this cup of dirt!"

The shorts kid then picks a bucket of dirt the other kids were using to build the castle, and walks away with it.

"Hey! That's mine! I was working on it!"

The bandana kid holds his water carefully and goes on the chase, slowly. The duo is followed then by the other kids.

And from the distance the teacher looks somewhat amused at the events while he is finishing serving the drinks. He smiles to himself thinking of the small triumphs of the day – for surely those silly kids will learn something today. "Archie" and "Maxie" their parents call them, but for many of the kids there they'll end up being something more: a leader.

"This water is miiiiine! Na-na-na-na!"

"This dirt is miiiiine! Na-na-na-na!"

…Oh they learn.


End file.
